


neither fail nor falter

by triplesalto



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Childbirth, Extra Treat, Gen, The Blitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 03:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12572876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplesalto/pseuds/triplesalto
Summary: During the Blitz, Sister Evangelina faces a new challenge.





	neither fail nor falter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arithanas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/gifts).



Childbirth was childbirth, and frightened mothers were frightened mothers, whether there were bombers overhead or not. Sister Evangelina straightened from her check and ignored all the faces curiously watching her, both covertly and openly, and focused on the mother. “Right,” she said, holding the mother’s eyes. “This baby is coming tonight.”

“In the shelter?” the mother wailed. She was a young one, small and tired. Sister Evangelina could see the bruises from lost sleep under her eyes. Everyone had them these days. Perhaps eventually they’d sleep through Jerry’s visits, for a body can become accustomed to anything, given enough time. But for now, they huddled wakeful in the shelters, in the Underground, anywhere they could, and prayed to find their homes untouched in the morning.

“In the shelter,” Sister Evangelina said firmly. There was no choice; and when there was no choice, it was time to roll up one’s sleeves and get to work. This baby was coming early, and it was coming now. “Air raid or no air raid, this baby doesn’t want to wait.”

The mother caught her breath on a sob. “I want my mum.”

This wasn’t Sister Evangelina’s usual area. She’d been caught out by an early raid, and found the first public shelter she could. Lucky for this woman that she had; there were no other medical professionals in this cramped space. Yet it did leave her without any background knowledge on the case, or even the woman’s name. She looked about her and caught the eye of an elderly woman sitting nearby. “Is her mother here?”

A shake of the head. “Marigold’s mum died two months back. She’s been poorly since. Worrying about her husband.”

As most London women were. Whether Marigold’s husband was on the front lines, or in some vital (but dangerous) job here at home, Sister Evangelina didn’t ask. “Marigold,” she said, drawing the mother’s attention back to her. “Is this your first baby?”

Marigold nodded. “Yes, Sister,” she said, meekly. Already she seemed a little calmer; Sister Evangelina had always found that a no-nonsense bedside manner inspired confidence.

To that end, she continued to ignore the other inhabitants of the shelter, focusing only on Marigold. “You’re going to have your baby tonight, Marigold,” she said. “And I’m going to be here with you, every step of the way. You’re not going to let Herr Hitler worry you, are you?”

There was a hissing chorus from the children in the corner at Hitler’s name. Marigold summoned a wan, brave smile. “No, Sister.”

“All right then,” Sister Evangelina said, briskly. 

The next contraction came, and Marigold sobbed her way through it, biting her lower lip hard. Sister Evangelina talked her through it, bracing for what was to come. She could detect no complications, but even the simplest births were never easy. This was going to be a long night. 

“I can’t do it, Sister,” Marigold said, when her contraction subsided. “I can’t.”

“Do you know how many babies I’ve birthed?” Sister Evangelina asked. “Hundreds. You can. And you will.” She turned to the shelter at large. “Does anyone have any spare blankets? This mother needs her privacy.”

Her appeal brought blankets, even though those in the shelter must have had few to spare. It would be an uncomfortable night for them, but for no one more than the labouring mother. And with the blankets came a comfortable-looking, rosy-cheeked woman who introduced herself as Mrs Jenkins and turned the blankets into a cocooning barrier between Marigold and the rest of the shelter.

“Is there anything else I can do, love?” she asked Marigold, squeezing her hand. “Only I’ve had nine of my own, and you never do forget the first one.”

“Thank you, Mrs Jenkins,” Marigold said. “Could you – could you hold my hand?”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs Jenkins said, and stayed by her side as the next contraction hit. 

Sister Evangelina welcomed the help. Mrs Jenkins seemed a sensible sort of woman, and any woman who’d birthed nine children would know how not to be a nuisance. She ran her checks on Marigold again, her body settling into the well-known routine, while the adrenaline coursed through her veins. No matter how many babies she delivered, even the most straightforward births were a battle to be fought and won. 

“What names are you thinking?” Mrs Jenkins asked Marigold, her calmness soothing.

“Michael for a boy, after his da,” Marigold said, weakly. “Michael Perkins. Sarah for a girl, after my mum. We’ll call her Sally.”

“I have a Sally,” Mrs Jenkins said. “She’s twenty now, up in Norfolk. A Land Girl.”

Someone in the shelter was snoring, their need for sleep overcoming the conditions, the lack of privacy, and the drama of both labouring mother and German onslaught. Needs must.

Sister Evangelina paused to take a deep breath, and let it out again. Tonight a new life was going to come into the world, as the war thundered overhead. Forget the sounds that penetrated their place of refuge from the outside world, and the fears for what they would find when they emerged in the morning. God must take care of London; Sister Evangelina had a labouring mother in her care, and a baby who was anxious to join her. 

This was Sister Evangelina’s work. This was her calling. 

Little Sally Perkins arrived fifteen minutes before the all clear sounded. Her mother held her close, a beatific smile of exhaustion on her face.

Sister Evangelina surveyed them both with quiet pride.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is adapted from a Churchill quote:
> 
> "We shall not fail or falter; we shall not weaken or tire. Neither the sudden shock of battle, nor the long-drawn trials of vigilance and exertion will wear us down." - BBC radio broadcast, February 9, 1941.


End file.
